


Sweet Dreams

by Star_Going_Supernova



Series: Inky Eyes, Golden Heart [7]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Dreams, Gen, I was peer pressured into writing this but I don't really mind, Shawn isn't Human, Supernatural Elements, demon!Henry, there i said it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 20:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova
Summary: It was only after he’d walked into a busy road on a particularly foggy morning, nearly getting run down by a truck, that his mother told him the truth.Shawn wasn’t entirely human.





	Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Freaking _finally!_ This one’s been a long time coming, and I’m so happy to finally be able to get it out to you guys. Watching Chapter Four gameplay was super inspiring and finally kicked my butt into gear to finish this one.
> 
> So, without further ado, it’s time to find out just what Shawn is. :)

Shawn wasn’t very old when he started having The Dreams. Dreams of people being born, dreams of people dying, dreams of people that weren’t people. At first, he’d only wake up disoriented, blearily staring up at his bedroom ceiling as the images his mind had conjured faded away.

Those Dreams were easily forgotten in the light of day. Those Dreams didn’t last long.

After a year of those, he started waking up to find tears on his face. Months later, he began to sleepwalk, his family finding him sound asleep in the kitchen, the basement, the bathroom. That escalated into screaming himself hoarse, unable to wake up until someone—usually his mother—had shaken him out of his nightmares.

It was only after he’d walked into a busy road on a particularly foggy morning, nearly getting run down by a truck, that his mother told him the truth.

Shawn wasn’t entirely human.

His mother was, but his father—who he’d only met once or twice when he was too young to truly remember—had been something _more_. She’d thought, hoped, prayed that none of her children would reflect that bit of _more_ , and to her joy, none of them had. Until Shawn.

“What was he?” he asked her, barely eleven years old with bloody feet from his trip outside.

She sighed. “Your father was the direct descendant of what’s called a demi-mortal. He never told me all of what that made him, just that it made him different.”

This was wildly unhelpful information when Shawn could hardly close his eyes without seeing something great or terrible. One night, he dreamt of someone being shot in an alley. The next, he watched a little girl wake up from a successful surgery to the joy of her family. Such was the utter unpredictability of what he saw.

As he grew, so did The Dreams. He went from seeing humans, to seeing _others_. His nights became filled with dreams of terrifying monsters looming in the dim light of glowing pentagrams, dreams of beautiful creatures with glittering tails or gossamer wings, dreams of not-beings breathing stardust in the endless void of space, dreams of tricksters with mischief glowing out of their slitted eyes.

“What am I?” he hoarsely asked his mother on his fourteenth birthday. He’d told her not to go to her job that morning, and now they were listening to the radio spit out a report on a terrible fire that was consuming the building where she worked.

She hugged him closer as the news mentioned the names of some of her coworkers, dead and gone. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Shawn nodded, and in his mind, he relived the dream of his mother burning, burning, burning.

• • • • • 

By the time he turned eighteen, Shawn knew only a little more about what he was, and most of that knowledge came from experience, not any legitimate source.

He knew he sometimes dreamt of nonsense, just random things. Those were the ones most easily forgotten in the morning, never haunting him beyond his pillow. Other nights, he witnessed the future. Those Dreams would leave an ache in his chest and a pain in his head. Those Dreams tormented him when he woke up.

He knew that sometimes, he could change the outcome of those Dreams. He also knew that sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t.

He knew he wasn’t an actual Seer. A very old lady with her lips stitched shut and a very young lady with her eyes gouged out told him so. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t listen to random strangers, but since they’d appeared in his kitchen and no one else in the room had seen them, he was inclined to believe they knew what they were talking about.

But mostly, he knew very little. His family helped him deal with The Dreams, the really very terrible ones that made him feel like he was bleeding out. They had perfected their methods, understood what was happening to the best of their abilities, and after years of maintaining the status quo, they were sure none of that would change.

Until, of course, it did.

Shawn sat on a bench, watching their family dog play with the other dogs at the park. He knew most of them, their hometown being small enough that he’d seen them around before. His gaze lazily drifted over the various paths, taking the chance to people watch.

He waved at old Mrs. Meechum who still gave him cookies whenever he shoveled her walkway in winter. He tried not to stare at crazy Hopkins, who muttered to himself and had a free-floating eye. He laughed at one of his friends, Mark, whose puppy had gotten his legs all tangled up with her leash.

And then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

Standing at the far end of the park was a woman who was practically glowing. It faintly surrounded her, a gentle pink color, and even with the distance between them, Shawn could see that the light rippled with her movements.

This was new, and he found he couldn’t so much as tear his gaze away. Staring as blatantly as he was, it was no surprise that the glowing woman noticed him. He watched her glance around, probably checking to see if he could be looking at anyone else. But no, she was alone where she stood, and Shawn felt his gut churn with fear as she started walking towards him.

Great, just great. 

She momentarily faltered when she got closer, and then the confusion making her frown morphed into a combination of wariness and understanding. The woman sat down next to him, and it took all of Shawn’s self-control not to flinch as the pink glow brushed against his bare arm. It was cool and unfamiliar, and without warning, all he could smell was the fresh crispness of a forest stream.

“I thought you were staring at me,” she said, offering him a little smile, “but I see now that you’re staring at my aura.”

“Your—what?”

She titled her head at him, and if an image of glinting fangs and ethereal beauty hadn’t suddenly overlaid her face, he might’ve called her pretty. Instead, Shawn had to make a conscious effort to keep his lunch down.

The not-woman laughed. “You’re a strange little human, aren’t you? You almost smell like a demi-mortal, but you can’t properly see through my glamour.”

Shawn sucked in a breath so fast, he choked.

“Probably the descendant of one,” she decided, as if she hadn’t just completely rocked Shawn’s world by repeating the words that he’d only ever heard from one other person his whole life. “Well?” she asked after a moment. “Am I right?”

He slowly nodded. “I—my father was—I don’t really—”

The not-woman tutted. “Oh, you poor dear. You don’t even know what you are, do you?”

“No,” Shawn said. “I—I really don’t. And, um. M’sorry. For starin’ at you. I’ve just never seen someone glowin’ before.”

She waved his apology away. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “I suppose you must be wondering what I am, for glowing, as you called it.” She waited for him to nod before telling him, “I’m a nymph. My stream flows not far from here.”

And that’s how Shawn learned that since he had come of age, he had gained the ability to see another creature’s aura—that is, a bit of something extra that otherworldly beings had connected to their souls—

(“Except demons,” the not-woman, Celine, said with a shudder. “Those vile beings don’t have a soul at all, only an aura. They’re wicked creatures, Shawn, wicked, wicked creatures. But you needn’t worry—they are doomed to hell with every soul they steal. No black-hearted demon may walk the earth.”)

—though he couldn’t tell what someone was just based on the glow surrounding them. Celine told him a bit about other creatures that inhabited the world, though she refused to tell him much about demi-mortals. Far as Shawn could figure, they weren’t the most well-liked species out there.

Life for Shawn continued in relatively the same fashion after being given an impromptu lesson on not being human. He occasionally saw someone with an aura, though as Celine had told him, he never figured out what most of them were. And honestly, that was fine by him—because as far as Shawn was concerned, it didn’t matter if someone was a little more than human.

It’s not like he’d ever encounter anything dangerous, after all.

• • • • • 

The first time Shawn met Henry Ross, he barely took notice of the aura surrounding the man. What he _did_ take notice of was how often Henry started showing up in his Dreams. It wasn’t entirely unusual for otherworldly creatures to feature more prominently, but this was just plain bizarre.

Especially since it was in a Dream featuring Henry that he first witnessed the past. It was a confusing jumble of images that left his mind feeling strangely violated when he woke up—like he had seen something that was somehow more incomprehensible than any of the other crazy things he’d ever seen.

The only part he could truly remember—the part that told him it had happened in the past—was seeing a very small Henry. Strangely enough, his cheeks had been covered by vicious, twisting scars that looked like they’d dug deep into his flesh. They had paradoxically looked both fresh and healed.

The day after that particular Dream, Shawn had stared at Henry’s face, but to his confusion, there was no sign of the crack-like marks. Maybe the scars had something to do with whatever creature he was.

But as curious as Shawn found himself about Henry, he refused to pry. Yes, he’d leave Henry alone about his inhumanness and wouldn’t act on his Dreams, no matter how tempting it might be.

Or at least, that was the plan.

_Angry voices full of hatred. Sharp, snarling teeth. Dark, poisonous auras._

**_Demons._ **

_A group of three wicked hellspawn surrounded Henry, their true forms showing through the fragile human bodies they’d possessed. One swiped at him, raking broken fingernails across Henry’s cheek._

_Blood dripped down Henry’s face, and Shawn wanted to scream at him—to run, to escape, to do something other than just stand there—wanted to wake up and find Henry to make sure he was okay and that he’d stay okay. It didn’t feel like the past or the future, and that realization frightened Shawn more than any other Dream he’d ever had._

_He was seeing the present, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it._

_Over the years of having Dreams, Shawn had been witness to a lot of deaths, some quiet and sad, others violent and messy. He’d admittedly grown a bit nonchalant about it, callous as it might sound. But now faced with the idea that he might be about to watch Henry be brutally murdered, he felt his blood freeze in his sleeping body’s veins as panic flooded his mind._

_The demons’ voices were garbled and impossible to understand, though Shawn guessed they were taunting Henry for some reason. Playing with their prey, perhaps?_

_Just before Shawn could start to hyperventilate in his sleep, Henry’s posture changed. Suddenly, despite being shorter than two of the demon-possessed humans, he was positively looming over them without growing an inch. Something deep and unfathomable in his eyes sharpened dangerously. His aura flared._

_And then Shawn was afraid for an entirely different reason._

• • • • •

A demon. Henry Ross—dorky, kind, determined, take-no-crap, with the patience of a saint Henry Ross—was a demon.

Shawn didn’t bother showing up to the studio the morning after his Dream, too afraid of… something. Henry, was he afraid of Henry? Or just afraid of what he might say to the man?

But—demons couldn’t walk the earth. Their corrupted auras didn’t allow it.

So why could Henry?

• • • • •

Joey cheerfully accepted Shawn’s excuse of missing work from feeling terribly ill the previous day, and if Shawn looked as horrible as he felt, it was no wonder.

He’d gotten no sleep after his Dream, not that night or the night after. Last he checked, his skin was pale and his eyes were framed by dark circles. His shoulders drooped and he was sure he gave off a completely miserable appearance.

This had the advantage that he was left alone for the most part, his only company the toys he was making and the thoughts running circles in his head. Around lunch, though, a disadvantage revealed itself—or rather, it walked into the room bearing a cup of tea.

“How’re you feeling, Shawn?” Henry asked, setting the steaming mug near Shawn’s elbow. “Joey said you were sick yesterday.”

A demon was asking him how he felt, a demon was expressing concern over his wellbeing, a demon was _standing right next to him_.

For a long moment, Shawn was frozen stiff, unable to answer. All he could think about was how demons could see auras too, and that he had an aura, and was Henry onto him? Did Henry know that he was something other too, that Shawn could easily out him to all their friends?

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come in today,” Henry said when Shawn failed to answer. His hand moved to rest on Shawn’s shoulder, and what used to be a comforting, almost fatherly gesture felt more like a threat now. His words, even. Were those a warning?

“You’re shaking, Shawn. I think a trip to the infirmary to take a little break might be wise.”

Oh. Not a threat, then.

“I’m fine,” he managed to say.

Henry gave him a highly dubious look.

 _No black-hearted demon may walk the earth,_ Celine had told him several years ago. But what about a demon who didn’t have a poisoned aura and a cruel heart? Could such a demon even exist? Didn’t that go against everything a demon was meant to be?

Although… if any demon _could_ prove to be an outlier, it _would_ be someone like Henry. Maybe it could only be someone like Henry.

“Hey,” Henry said, interrupting his sudden epiphany, “are those dark chocolates?”

Shawn followed his gaze to a jar on the corner of his workstation, filled with little wrapped candies. The non-sequitur shocked him enough to actually answer, “Some of ’em, yeah.”

“May I have one?”

It was weird, because Henry rarely ever asked for something like that. Bewildered but unwilling to possibly anger the demon looming over him, Shawn reached over and grabbed one.

“Thanks,” Henry said with a pleased smile, accepting it in such a way that they almost shook hands. “Now drink your tea and consider taking a break soon.” And with that, he turned and began making his way back to the entrance.

After a moment of delay, the intense pressure behind Shawn’s eyes, born from a combination of lost sleep and stress, began to fade. It couldn’t be the pain medication he’d taken hours earlier, because that hadn’t helped at all. And with the speed it was vanishing, it could only be something inhuman, like—

 _A demon deal_.

He’d just accidentally made a deal—a very minor one, but still—with a demon, exchanging a piece of candy for a bit of pain relief. But, from Shawn’s understanding, demons wouldn’t ever do something like that for such a pointless exchange. Did that mean Henry really wasn’t cruel and corrupted?

Shawn swiveled in his seat, just in time to watch Henry pop the piece of chocolate in his mouth as he strode out of the room with a bounce in his step.

Maybe knowing a demon with a heart as gold as Henry’s wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

_(Later, much much later, Joey would act strange—or, well, strange by his standards—and Henry would be rumored to be locked in the basement, and Shawn would worry that Joey had found out what Henry was._

_Before he could really work himself up about what might be happening to Henry down there, the little star of the studio’s cartoon would be running amuck and Henry would be sheepishly showing his friends the way horns curled out of his forehead and scar-cracks stretched down his cheeks._

_Wally would freak out, Sammy would be disgruntled that the literal demon in the studio wasn’t, in fact, Joey Drew, and Shawn would quietly make plans for a half-form demon plushie._

_And even later after that, for the first time in his life, Shawn would consider telling someone about what he was—but only after Henry drove himself half-insane from wondering.)_

**Author's Note:**

> I like imaging the two of them hanging out once Shawn finally put Henry out of his misery and told him what he was. Just, like, going out to have coffee and talk about demi-mortals and demons and other non-human creatures.
> 
> Let me know if you were surprised by his other-ness or if you’d guessed something like this. 
> 
> Anyway, expect some Chapter Four stuff soon! :)


End file.
